When Enzo left, it was already time for lunch. Zayden told Ren to bring it to his room, along with his own meal, since Eiran was spending the day with Soren.

"He has grown so attached to him," Zayden chuckled while Ren placed the two trays of food on the table. His soft gaze constantly followed the young man’s movements.

"He has..." Ren murmured, his tone distant, as if displeased by the idea. His eyes fell to the empty glass beside the general’s plate before he filled it with water.

Zayden’s smile faded when he noticed. "You don’t seem very fond of that."

Ren hesitated before answering, "...I am not sure I like the idea of him getting too attached. What if he wants to stay there? You know... children can be very stubborn and...."

Zayden leaned back, his gaze softening. "You are the one always telling me ’he is a child’, Ren. He is allowed to feel safe where he is cared for. And my brother is not the type who will turn him against us."

Ren didn’t respond immediately. His thoughts trailed elsewhere—to the delegation that still resided in the same palace as them even if it was in a different wing. They hadn’t caused any trouble yet, but silence itself could be dangerous. It wasn’t like them to stay quiet for so long. Something about it gnawed at him. Did they find something?

Zayden, noticing the furrow between Ren’s brows, reached for his cup.

"You think too much," he said lightly. "After lunch, you will have a drink with me."

Ren blinked.

"Drink? In broad daylight?"

"Who cares?" Zayden’s lips curved into a smile. He looked at him cutely, almost like a child pleading. "Do me a favour. As a friend."

Ren sighed, his voice dry.

"You should not use that word when you want something, My Lord."

"And it always works," Zayden grinned.

Ren tried not to let the corner of his mouth twitch—not to let a smile form on his face—but it did anyway. He gave a small, reluctant nod. He would drink—just a little. He always made sure not to drink too much, to remain the sober one.

The two ate their meals first, not speaking at all. The silence bit beneath Ren’s skin. Why wasn’t Zayden speaking? It wasn’t like him. Was it because of the man who had visited earlier? Was he still thinking about him?

The sweet potato in his mouth suddenly tasted sour. He grabbed his glass, gulped down all the water, and placed it back on the table with a low thud. Yet, that didn’t provoke any reaction from Zayden. The General simply kept staring at his plate, taking small bites.

"Actually..." Ren coughed to clear his throat.

Zayden looked up. His gaze fell on the young man’s wet lips, and his heart skipped a beat. But he quickly shook away the thought.

He loved Ren.

He wasn’t just attracted to him, he told himself—more a reassurance than an affirmation.

"Yes?"

"We can drink while eating," Ren said softly.

Zayden’s expression brightened for a brief moment. He quickly opened the bottle of wine and filled both glasses.

"Let’s start," he grinned.

Ren nodded, taking a few sips. The wine tasted faintly of vanilla on his tongue, but there was a lingering earthy undertone.

Zayden, on the other hand, was a terrible example of moderation. He downed his first glass too fast, and then the second followed—each gulp quicker than the last.

Ren watched the General quietly, his fingers tracing the rim of his own glass.

"Last time," he began softly, "you said you lost your friends..." His voice faltered for a brief second, unsure if it was the right thing to ask. "Can I know how?"

He didn’t even know why he was curious to begin with. He simply wanted to understand Zayden a little more. This man had always been right in front of him, yet, for years, he was nothing special—just another powerful figure in Revhara. But now that they had become friends, the need to know him pressed down on him like a weight he couldn’t ignore.

Zayden paused, setting the glass on the table. He couldn’t drink while talking about them.

It felt... wrong although he often drank to drain the pain gnawing in his chest.

"My friends..." he murmured. "My human friends..."

Ren sighed softly. He was clearly drunk. His gaze drifted to the clock on the wall—an hour had already passed. Usually, the General knew how to pace himself, but today he didn’t bother.

Maybe he felt safe with Ren around. Safe enough to drop his guard.

The silence stretched between them for a little longer until Zayden spoke again, voice hoarse and trembling.

"Sometimes the memories... they haunt me," he said, staring into his empty glass. "Even if I drown myself in alcohol... These memories... They cling to me like glue. I can’t shake them off."

Ren’s chest tightened upon hearing that. He already knew this much. He still wanted to know what happened.

"But... Why do you keep drinking?" he asked quietly.

"To forget," Zayden said. His lips curled into a broken smile. "To forget the pain."

"What pain?"

"The loss," he whispered. "The guilt. It’s killing me, Ren," his voice trembled while he gulped down another glass of wine.

He stayed silent for a moment, continuing. "Every day, I smile, but it’s all a façade, you know? I am not okay. I haven’t been okay for years."

He looked up then, eyes heavy and unfocused. Maybe it was because he hadn’t slept properly last night, but the sadness in them was too clear to miss. "I want to be saved," he murmured. "And... maybe you can save me."

Ren froze, his breath catching in his throat.

"Me? How can I possibly—"

But before he could finish, Zayden’s eyes fluttered shut. His head tilted to the side, resting against the back of the chair as sleep finally took him.

Ren stared at him, the words echoing in his mind.

"Save me."